


Alternative Outcomes

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Category: History Boys (movie), Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-26
Updated: 2007-08-26
Packaged: 2017-10-06 00:35:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein I play with timelines a little.  Pretend that <i>The History Boys</i> took place in present day, and that this is happening a few weeks after the end of that plot.  Oh, and also that Viggo, for no reason whatsoever, happens to look pretty much like he did while filming <i>Rings</i>.  Anyway, the plot—Viggo is on holiday in Sheffield, visiting a friend, and stumbles across a new face in a pub.  Porn ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alternative Outcomes

A man raises his pint glass to Irwin, and he's momentarily caught off guard. He squints a little, thinking maybe he knows the man, but no. The features are pleasant but unfamiliar—long, light brown hair, a bit of a beard, rough calloused hands with a silver ring on the right. He notices hands, like he notices few other things, and the stranger's draw him. He smiles, if a little quizzical, and the man beckons him over with one hand.

Fuck it. Why not?

He's been waiting in this pub for Dakin, because he'd scribbled the date in his little black book, and though he doesn't remember making the appointment he's desperate to find out exactly what led up to it, what happened after the part he remembers. Dakin isn't here, though, and maybe it's a good thing. If he really has wasted away his career and reputation over a casual blowjob with a student, he'd rather be able to claim innocence when his day comes in court.

It's awkward, hobbling over from the small table to the bar with his crutches and one leg in a full cast, but the man doesn't laugh. In fact, he takes Irwin's crutches from him and holds them while he awkwardly arranges himself on a stool. After a moment, it becomes evident that the only way to do this and still face the bloke is to put his cast on the other man's stool, between his legs. The man is remarkably easy going about this, and his knees straddle Irwin's leg as if they'd known each other their whole lives.

"Were you waiting for someone?" he asks in a smooth, placeless American accent.

Irwin shakes his head. "Well… sort of…" He smiles and shakes his head again. "No."

The man smiles in return and takes a sip of his beer. "I know the feeling."

"You don't live here," Irwin comments after the man buys him a pint and the bartender passes it over, tall and dark and frothy. He shouldn't be drinking with the painkillers, but these days who the fuck cares?

"No. I gave myself a little holiday."

Irwin nods. He wishes he could do the same, but all his holiday time is taken up by fucking bed rest, and the year is still young. "So you're on holiday in _Sheffield_?" he asks, a bit surprised that the American would even be able to find the place on the map. Did he spend all his money on airfare, or were all the hotels in the south of France booked?

"I have a friend here. I'm staying with him."

"Ah, I see." That makes more sense, so Irwin drinks his pint in silence for a moment, until he starts to process something. "This is going to sound odd, but I could swear I've seen you somewhere. Have you visited here before?"

The man laughs. "You don't watch a lot of movies, do you?"

Irwin blushes and shakes his head. "You're a director or something, aren't you? I'm horribly sorry; I really don't keep up with those things."

He laughs again and shakes his head. "Never mind. It's refreshing." He extends a hand. "Viggo."

"Ir… Tom, sorry. It's Tom."

Viggo inclines an eyebrow, and Irwin laughs apologetically. "It's my students. They've almost made me forget I have a given name, really."

Viggo smiles. "You teach?"

"Yeah. It's not as noble as it sounds. The students, sixth form boys, just finished actually and all going to Oxford and Cambridge… well they think it's just an intermediate thing between diapers and adulthood, and I hate to admit it but they're right."

"You don't look all that young," Viggo comments. "Sorry, but…"

"No," Irwin interrupts quickly, waving him off. "It's fine. I know I'm not the most handsome bloke ever, just, the stress of this-" he waves his arm to indicate the cast, "-took a lot out of me as of late."

"I didn't say you weren't handsome," Viggo says evenly. "You just don't look 'out of diapers.' I'm forty-eight," he adds.

"Really?" Irwin laughs lightly. "You hold it well."

"Thank you."

Viggo has an unnerving way of looking right at him, and though he should be used to directness after Dakin, he's really not.

"What do you teach?" Viggo asks after a moment and another pint ordered.

"History now, but not for long."

"Must be quite a scholar, if your entire class is at Oxford and Cambridge."

"Well," Irwin concedes, "no. It was a small class, and they were the best in the school. But I… I suppose I'd like to be a scholar. I enjoy learning."

"If I were patient, I might teach. But probably not," Viggo admits.

"So you direct?"

"Act."

"Oh." Irwin frowns, still trying to place him, but can't. "At… a risk of being indelicate, would you… well I'm not quite sure why you asked me over here, and if you just wanted to talk, you don't… but perhaps you might like to…"

Viggo bursts out laughing, and Irwin's face is stuck somewhere between a smile and shock. He vaguely remembers making the same expression that afternoon, with Dakin, right around where the memory gets hazy, but this time there is none of the fear.

"You don't do this very often, do you?"

Now he smiles more simply, self-deprecating, and shakes his head.

"Never, really."

Viggo grins and slides off his stool, even though the pint is half-finished, and puts a few pounds on the bar. It's a generous tip for a barman who didn't do much, Irwin notes, but then he doesn't know how long Viggo's been here. He slides from his own stool more cautiously, and Viggo is there with a forearm for support, stronger than it looks, and his crutches. Irwin looks over his shoulder one last time, and then banishes Dakin from his mind, following the handsome American out the back door.

 

Irwin can't drive now, of course, and he'd got a cab to the pub, with a disdainful cabbie who kept muttering as he slowly lowered himself into the vehicle and overcharged. The ride to Viggo's friend's house is much more pleasant; Viggo first slides the seat back for him and makes sure he's comfortable before taking off. He asks as politely as he can why on earth Viggo would want to go home with a cripple and Viggo asks why on earth he'd want to go home with someone ten years older than himself. Irwin replies that Viggo is very attractive, that he needs this more than the person he was not really waiting for, and that is that.

"Is it strange, driving here?" he asks as Viggo turns down some side streets in a nice neighbourhood with which Irwin is by no means familiar.

"On the left, you mean?"

"Yeah. Doesn't it get a bit confusing?"

"Nah. I try to get a rental when I can on sets; I learned how on a little film I did out in New Zealand."

"Oh," Irwin replies. "I'd assumed you were a theatre actor. Or you said film, didn't you? I'm sorry, I'm a bit… not myself."

"Since the accident?"

"Yes. It… I've been re-evaluating a bit."

"Car crash?"

"A motorbike, actually. The other man on the bike died."

"Oh, shit. Was he a lover?"

Irwin actually laughs out loud, and shakes his head. "Co-worker. It's a long story. I'd tell you, but…"

"Long story."

Irwin nods. "And we appear to be here." The drive Viggo's pulled into is very upscale indeed, though the house doesn't appear large from the street.

"This house is a bit of a getaway for my friend," Viggo explains as he helps Irwin out and grabs the crutches from the back. "He has a house outside of London, but he was born in Sheffield. He stays here when people are visiting and we don't want to deal with the city, or a lot during football season when he's not filming."

"Blades or Wednesday?"

"Oh God, don't let him hear you say that," Viggo groans. "United, all the way, all the time."

Irwin laughs and hobbles up the walk. Viggo's stride is slow but comfortable next to him, hands in his pockets. Self-assured, but not cocky. He has to mentally check himself from making comparisons.

"Are you a football fan?"

Irwin shakes his head. "Don't support anyone, really. It's not my thing. Are you?'

Viggo nods. "I love sports… my football team is Argentinean, though."

"Really?" Irwin asks, surprised. "Have you been there?"

"Lived there for a few years as a kid."

"Oh wow. I would love to travel."

"Why don't you?"

"Money," Irwin says bluntly, and Viggo nods.

"Don't pay your teachers much better than we do?"

Irwin laughs. "At least my hospital bills are paid."

Viggo nods and opens his mouth, possibly to say something about universal healthcare, but he opens the door and there's a voice from the inside.

"Vig, that you?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Brought someone with, hope you don't…"

"No, you daft sod, of course I don't mind!"

The owner of the voice emerges into the house's living room just as they do, and Irwin stumbles slightly over the rug, Viggo reaching out and catching him effortlessly before he can do any damage. He'd recognised the voice as belonging to a native, but nothing more, now he realises it's Sean bloody Bean in the flesh, and he remembers watching Sharpe in college and wanking happily and wonders if he still keeps in touch with that Irish bloke and Christ, he should really say something…

"Hello," Sean says, looking amused. "I'm Sean, and this is my humble abode Vig's brought you to."

"Oh, erm, it's a pleasure," Irwin says, shifting his weight and feeling Viggo hold the crutch before he reaches out to shake the actor's hand. "Tom Irwin."

"Crap," Viggo suddenly exclaims.

"What?" they ask, both looking a bit bewildered.

"Oh, just my reputation's fucked now," he says, tone completely serious but a wild, mischievous smile in his eyes. "I know your last name."

"Oh, bugger off," Irwin exclaims, and smacks Viggo's shoulder lightly. As soon as he does it, he looks taken aback, as this is the first time in a while he's been so familiar with someone he barely knows, but both the other men grin, Sean especially, giving him a thump on his back that makes him wonder if he'll ever wash this shirt again.

"Welcome," he says simply. "I'll just be down at the pub, Vig. Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he says with a wink, grabbing a leather jacket off the back of the chair and leaving Irwin to concentrate hard on not staring.

 

"So I'm _really_ not sure how to do this," Irwin admits with a nervous laugh as he sits naked on the guestroom bed, his leg propped up comfortably, his back up against the pillows. His arms are sore from using the crutches, but he's just fine with it right now, his dick hardening in his trousers in anticipation of the handsome and somewhat mysterious man who has been so bloody _kind_ to him tonight.

Viggo smiles, again kindly, and crawls up onto the bed, comfortable in his own nudity. Irwin had insisted on being the one to undress him, awkward as it was, and he relished running his fingers over the hard planes of another man's body, a man who works out regularly, evidently. He's a bit nervous about his own lack of shape, as physical therapy isn't quite a strict exercise regimen, but Viggo doesn't seem to care. He supports himself carefully so that he isn't leaning on Irwin's bad leg, and they kiss, long and languorous and slow. When Viggo finally leaves his lips to slither downwards, Irwin's head falls back to the headboard with a thump, and his hand goes to Viggo's hair with an instinct that feels older than time.

Viggo is very pretty when he sucks cock. It's a thought Irwin is able to entertain unabashedly, as Viggo himself is so blunt in ways. He realises that Viggo doesn't mind being watched, and so his eyes remain locked on Viggo's lips and eyes, a face that he can't stop tracing with the fingers of the other hand, committing it to memory.

After a few minutes, with his cock very hard in Viggo's mouth, Irwin starts laughing, and he is grateful that Viggo is not annoyed, only pulls away with a quizzical smile and licks his lips, then raises the back of hand to wipe the saliva and precome from his beard stubble.

"I'm sorry, it's just… I was thinking about… there was someone, recently… God, this is really bad form, I'm sorry."

'"No," Viggo insists with a smile, sliding up so that he lies alongside Irwin instead, reaching across his own body to stroke Irwin's cock. "Tell me the story."

"It's just this boy. Man," he corrects, and then looks guiltily at Viggo, his cock leaping in Viggo's hand in twin response to the man's calloused fingers and the thought of Dakin that day, before the memory goes hazy. "Okay, boy. But he was of age. Anyway, he thought it was some sort of, I don't know… _privilege_ for me to be allowed to suck his cock."

"Did you?" Viggo asks with a knowing smile, reaching back to stroke Irwin's bollocks and prompting a needy little gasp he doesn't hold back for it's clear Viggo doesn't need or want him to.

"I can't remember," he admits, lowering his eyes. "I don't think so."

Viggo raises both eyebrows.

"Oh, no! I'm sorry," he hastily adds, laughing. "Not like that, it was… immediately before the accident. I was unconscious; there's a period of time after he asked and before I woke up in the hospital…"

"And you could have sucked this manboy's cock in between?" Viggo asks, his eyes dancing.

"I suppose," Irwin murmurs, and he can feel his cheeks grow hot.

"Nah," Viggo counters. "You'd know. This kid… you were waiting for him tonight?"

"Yeah," Irwin agrees. "Well anyway, I just thought it was funny that just a few weeks ago I had someone offering me the 'privilege' to blow him and…"

"It would have been a privilege," Viggo says simply, and Irwin stares.

Viggo smiles and awkwardly gets his other hand up between them, high enough to stroke Irwin's cheek. "I can see that it would have been. It's okay," he says, "to want something that badly. I wanted to suck your cock pretty badly just now."

Irwin sucks in a breath through his teeth. People don't normally talk to him this way, and he's _so_ hard.

"Just wanted to push my face into it and breathe and suck and make you come, Tom," Viggo purrs, and his given name is loud in Irwin's left ear.

"Oh," he breathes.

"It's been a long time since I was fucked, though. Too long. Much, much too long," Viggo amends with a lopsided grin. "May I ride you?"

Tom's brain short circuits and he reaches frantically for Viggo's wrist. "You have to stop…" He closes his eyes, takes a very deep breath, counts to ten, and exhales. "All right," he agrees. "I just need a minute. Do you have…?"

Viggo nods and leaves the bed, goes somewhere, maybe to his suitcase, and returns with a tube of lubricant and a string of cheerful red condom packets. He gets sideways on his hands and knees on the bed, his arse practically in Irwin's face, and Irwin turns onto his side to reach it better, bad leg underneath, balanced on one elbow. It's been a very, very long time since he's done this, but Viggo opens eagerly, and he finds himself loving the unrestrained sounds the man makes as he bites and sucks hard at the strong thighs and arse, making wet noises of his own. He uses his hand to make Viggo's bollocks swing back, teasing them with his tongue, and it isn't long before Viggo pantingly declares himself ready.

Viggo helps Irwin onto his back, and though he has broader shoulders and stronger thighs than some of the men Irwin has been with, he is perfection right now, perfect as he sinks down onto Irwin's cock and holds his hair back with one hand in a very messy approximation of a ponytail. Irwin can see each detail of his finely chiselled face now, strands falling in front of it to highlight the portrait he is even now painting in his mind for lonely nights, and the hard planes of Viggo's body stand out in sweaty relief as his muscles work in concert. The condom slips out of place on one too-hard thrust, but it was worth it, Irwin thinks as Viggo tosses it and rolls on another, and the time Viggo gives him to recover is crucial. They must spend half an hour at it, and every so often Viggo takes a break, and they make out a little, unhurried and utterly sexy, hands feeling and retracing body parts just discovered. When Viggo comes at last, he is on one knee, the other foot near Irwin's shoulder, and though Irwin doesn't understand the benefit of the position he does appreciate how hard Viggo slams his weight down, eliminating the necessity for him to drive painfully up, pulling his orgasm out of his body as Viggo bends and gives him a sloppy, biting kiss.

It occurs to him when it is over, when Viggo is cleaning him up and collapsing at his side, that Viggo is a strange kind of gentleman. And it won't be a one-night stand, either—maybe one week, and this is no romance, but nothing about Viggo is run of the mill. Later, he will think of this, and gradually, the American actor who once lived in Argentina will come to replace memories of Dakin and more painful ones, and will comfort him when he leaves teaching and settles into dullness once and for all. And one day, on the television, he will announce in a sidebar that Viggo has died, and his heart will twitch for a moment in sympathy.


End file.
